


In retrospect

by FixaIdea



Series: Un-romantic Partnership [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempted Murder, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 16:01:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3856597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FixaIdea/pseuds/FixaIdea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire wakes up disoriented, with a pounding headache and an armful of badly beaten Enjolras.<br/>Now all he has to do is work out how the hell they ended up like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In retrospect

**Author's Note:**

> The tags are there for a reason, but nothing graphic happens.

Grantaire woke awfully disoriented, with a terrible headache and the hazy memories of a nightmare. Also, he wasn’t alone. This, he discovered by trying to roll over and finding his arm trapped. Heaving a great sigh, he dedicated some time to assess his surroundings, preferably without having to open his eyes.

After a while he concluded the following: he was in bed, wearing almost all of his clothes, except his trousers, with a person of hitherto unspecified gender and identity but who apparently also had at least a shirt on (and had long, impressively soft hair), had a raging headache and generally felt like he’d been trampled by a herd of wildebeests. All that fit perfectly well with his last clear memory, which was of entering a bar.

The person beside him snuffled a little and nuzzled into Grantaire’s shoulder. R hummed, disgruntled. Very well, then, time for the embarrassing part. Who did he try (and by all evidence presented, failed) to hook up with? He cracked an eye open and peered down at the head resting in the crook of his neck.

It was Enjolras. Even from this awkward angle there was no mistaking him. Grantaire let his head drop back on the pillow, staring up at the ceiling in horror. How the hell did this happen? Carefully, he peered down at the other man again. Enjolras slept peacefully, with a serene expression on his mangled face. Grantaire stared in horror: the one eye that wasn’t hidden in his neck was swollen shut.

Oh. The nightmare. It wasn’t a nightmare.

Grantaire shuddered and hugged his friend closer as the horrible memories of last night came rushing back.

***

The evening started pleasantly enough, at one of his usual haunts, in the company of Bahorel and some of their mutual boxing partners. They had a few drinks, then a few more and had a great time gossiping and making fun of politicians. Or anyone, really.

Grantaire was pleasantly tipsy when he stood to leave. He toyed with the idea of calling a taxi, but he was running short on money and anyway, the night was clear and fairly warm for Mach. Walking it was, then. Half-empty bottle still in hand, he headed home.  
A few blocks down he decided to make a shortcut through the maze of alleys instead of taking the longer, but brighter lit one by the major roads. He barely had a handful of cents on him, what could possibly happen?

Strolling cheerfully, humming to himself, he almost missed the sounds. But there they were, again, muffled, indefinable scuffling, and then suddenly something metallic toppling over, just over the next corner. Carefully, Grantaire edged closer and peered out from behind the wall of a house.  
There was a gang of …maybe four? four people struggling with a fifth. The thugs were huge and mostly blocked their victim from R’s view. They were apparently attempting to force him down on the ground but he kicked and wriggled and bucked in their grasp. Finally one of the attackers managed to kick out his legs and sent the man toppling over. Another, one with a crowbar in his hand immediately kneeled on their victim’s back while a third forced him to stay down by stepping on his neck with a steel-tipped boot.  
All Grantaire could do was to stand there and watch, rooted to the ground.

For a fraction of a second the face of the stricken man became visible. It was Enjolras.

The world went red.

The next thing Grantaire could recall was punching and punching and punching a thug the size of a bull until he passed out. He let him drop on the ground and took a moment to assess his surroundings. He still had the neck of his, now broken, bottle in his hand. Another thug was laying at his feet, pieces of glass scattered around his bleeding head. Enjolras stood a few feet away from them, holding the same crowbar he’d been threatened with, staring down at the third attacked, who was curled up in a whining ball on the ground.

“The fourth?” Grantaire gasped.  
“Fled when you cut him with the bottle” said Enjolras, eyes still fixed on the man at his feet.  
“Who the fuck are these assholes?” Grantaire cried as Enjolras finally moved, throwing the crowbar away and catching Grantaire’s arm, pulling him away from the scene.  
“Skinheads, I think. They must have heard me speak at the LGBT rally at the University. Apparently the only thing that stuck with them was the idea that I like long, hard things in my butt. Hence the crowbar.”

Grantaire swallowed, trying his best not to throw up. Enjolras was limping, so he pulled one of his arms around his shoulders and all but carried his friend all the way to the ambulance.

The rest of the night was a blur of various waiting rooms, first the ambulance, then the police and questions, questions and questions…  
The only clear memory Grantaire had was, after they finally got back to his flat at dawn and he managed to get Enjolras out of his torn, dirty clothes and into bed, the feeling of his friend’s hand closing around his wrist and the glazed over, desperate look Enjolras gave him as he asked him to stay.

***

Which was how he ended up disoriented, aching all over and with an armful of Enjolras. Enjolras, who was beginning to stir. For a moment he must have been as out of sorts as Grantaire had been, because his whole body tensed and his heart started to race at an alarming speed, R could feel it hammering against his own chest. He shifted slightly and began to rub gentle circles into the other man’s back.

“There now” he murmured “There, you’re safe, it’s over, you’re safe. I’m here, it’s me, just me, your R.”

Thankfully Enjolras gathered his bearing quicker than Grantaire had, because soon enough his breathing evened out, his heartrate slowed, and with a trembling sigh he burrowed into Grantaire’s chest, wrapping a wiry arm around his friend. They lay in silence for a while, the only motion between them the rising and falling of their chests and Grantaire’s thumb softly caressing Enjolras’ shoulder.

It was strange, being able to hold him like that if, surprisingly enough, not unprecedented. The first, and up until now only time it happened was when Grantaire, about three months ago, fell into one of his relatively rare but profound black moods. He was, by nature a cheerful enough fellow, who drank because he enjoyed it and because he had friends to drink with but sometimes, only sometimes, melancholy would hit and thus the drinking would turn into an attempt to relieve it. Usually unsuccessfully. 

To this day Grantaire wasn’t sure why he decided to try another way to solve his problem, but it proved to be a good idea. The revolutionary new method consisted of seeking out the company of one of Les Amis and asking them to let him stay the night. Turning specifically to Enjolras was more a necessity than an actual choice because the rest of their friends were either home for the winter break or lived right across Paris, inconveniently far from Grantaire.

R didn’t expect him to cooperate or even take him seriously, but he was quite desperate at the time. He shouldn’t have worried. Not only did Enjolras invite him in, make him tea and let R rant at him all night about the general, increasing awfulness of the world, but also allowed Grantaire to cuddle up to him and rest his head on his lap. He even lay down beside him and let R hold onto him all night. That gesture took Grantaire by surprise more than anything, not because Enjolras wasn’t a tactile person, he sure was, but the two of them had only been properly friends for about a year, despite having known each other for at least three. 

That, at least now made sense to Grantaire. In all probability it was simply Enjolras’ way of putting the good old principle of ‘treat others the way you want to be treated’ into practice. Judging by the way the man was still hugging Grantaire despite obviously being awake meant he found such intimacy one of the greatest sources of comfort and, back then, simply offered Grantaire the treatment he would have craved in such a difficult time.

Grantaire squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden stinging behind his lids.

“I didn’t even thank you properly.”

It took a moment for Grantaire to register that Enjolras had spoken, and another to decipher what he said. His voice was raspy, and he struggled to form words with his swollen face and cracked lips.

“Well, good morning to you too.” said Grantaire with his best attempt at a warm smile. It turned out a bit shaky. “How are you?”  
“Sore.”  
“Figures” Grantaire said with a little laugh “Breakfast? Or rather, lunch?” he asked, glancing at the alarm clock. It was 13:25.  
“Thanks.”

By the time Grantaire has conjured up some instant noodles and coffee, Enjolras has cleaned up as much as his injuries allowed and put on his clothes. He took the mug Grantaire offered him with a grateful nod. They ate in silence, but R was entirely too conscious of Enjolras’ eyes on him. He shook himself and tried to concentrate on his ramen.

“I’ve never seen anyone fight like this.”  
“Sorry, what?”  
“I’ve never seen anyone fight like you have yesterday” Enjolras repeated quietly. He was staring at Grantaire with an appraising, intense, and, unless Grantaire was very much mistaken, _admiring_ look.

Grantaire chuckled nervously and scratched the back of his head.

“I’d boast my awesome martial arts skills, but honestly, I had no idea what I was doing. The whole thing kind of just… happened. Like I was on autopilot or something. But honestly, it wasn’t skill or even bravery. Were it anyone else I’m pretty sure I would have just snuck away before those thugs noticed me. Maybe phoned the police if I was sober enough.”

“Still. You saved my life.”  
“Now, now, no need to be melodramatic like that…”  
“They tried to rape me with a crowbar” Enjolras said flatly “It would have torn my guts apart. You saved my life.”

So much for Grantaire’s attempts at levity. He screwed his eyes shut, swallowing against the bile rising in his throat, trying to block the sudden rush of images of his icon, his angel bleeding out in a dirty alley, alone and helpless, laying there like a broken porcelain doll.

“How can you be so calm about this?” he asked, voice shaking.

Enjolras shrugged. He looked a little lost.

“I don’t know how to react. It all feels distant. Like it happened to someone else.”

Grantaire felt his throat close up. A sudden wave of emotion washed over him and he buried his face into his hands. He didn’t even realise he was crying until he felt Enjolras shift to sit beside him and put a hand on his shaking shoulder.

“Please don’t cry. R? Please?”

All Grantaire could do was to turn to him and pull him into a hug.

“This is absurd” he muttered into his shoulder “I should be the one comforting you. I almost lost you. God, I almost lost you…”  
“But you haven’t. You saved me. I’m here, I’m fine! I’m fine.” Enjolras said, though he sounded like he was trying to convince himself. He was clinging to Grantaire just as fiercely as R was to him.  
“I’m pretty sure you’re not. Fine, that is.”  
“Maybe not… well, definitely not. But I will be. I will be.”

That, at least, Grantaire could believe.

**Author's Note:**

> Naturally, Enjolras doesn't just get over the whole trauma, just like that. It's going to take a helluva lot of time for him to properly process it, but he's going to be ok, just not any time soon.


End file.
